


Reflection

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Forgiving, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Healing, Mentions of past abuse, Redemption, Team Dynamics, Ward as a dragon, Ward has been turned into a monster, and how to rein the beast that you are, and this seems to be it, i need something to tide me over the summer and fix my ward feels, instead it turned into an angsty-ish character exploration, it's not as bad as you think, learning how to accept yourself, literal monster, mid redemption storyline, this should have been crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team runs into an Asgardian who turns people into their own worst ideas of themselves, and during the fight with her, Ward steps in front of May, taking the blow of her magic. Now the team has a rather big problem on their hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> This one has started as sort of a personal joke with bunch of tumblr buddies who call me their mama dragon. Someone mentioned how Ward would defend his team and be their protective dragon, once he's free of all the bad influences and able to freely act upon his protective instincts. And then I visualized this huge brown-greenish-golden dragon, fiercely protecting his own. 
> 
> Among all the Ward - heals fics I've written so far, this one is, I think, my favorite. I loved writing it, I hope you'll enjoy reading it.

_"somehow i cannot hide who I am, though I've tried"_

*

 

“Huh,” Trip says. 

“That's a bit worse than 'huh',” Coulson adds. 

“I am pretty sure you're not making this any easier,” May observes with her arms crossed. 

Rest of the team arrives. Well, rest of the team minus Ward, because Ward is, per usual, in trouble. May sighs and pushes down an entirely unpleasant feeling seizing her. It seems that any time a trouble making Asgardian shows up, Ward is bound to get the worst end of the deal. 

Skye runs up to them, breathless. “Where is he?” 

Trip points in front of them. What's in front of them is a valley, surrounded by thick woods. And because it's nearly dark, all they can see is a shape trying to hide itself in the shadows. He (because that apparently _is_ Ward) is too big to enter the woods. 

“What... even,” Skye says quietly. Just as Fitz and Simmons arrive there is a deep, decidedly mournful rumble coming from the shadows. May winces. Coulson's face is pinched. 

“Viane said it herself,” he says, “She would turn anyone into their own idea of self.”

“What they see themselves as,” Trip corrects. May presses her lips together tightly. Ward knocked her out of the way and Viane's magic hit him instead of her. 

“But what is -?” Simmons frowns. There's a strange sound, something like a large animal taking a deep breath, only entirely close to a whine. It moves, and no, there's no mistake. It's big, with a long spiky tail and four legs and... oh dear God. Wings. 

“That, Simmons,” Fitz says with a slight flare of his trademark drama and a good dose of fascination. “That, I think, is a dragon.” 

 

*

It's a dragon, all right. Not _it_ , but Ward. Trip has seen all sorts of weird shit, but this? This tops everything else. Trip tries not to stare, but it's hard not to stare. Fitz doesn't even try not to stare, and Trip is pretty sure Simmons would be running tests on Ward - the - dragon if he didn't look so broody and miserable. 

He's currently sitting near the ramp of the airplane, glancing towards it occasionally. He is too big to fit in – he can barely fit his head through the opening. Trip isn't certain, of course, but he thinks he saw longing on the dragon's face. If dragons can experience such thing as longing. Maybe he watched too many Pixar movies. 

Ward is nothing like Pixar dragons, though. He's not cute, he is, in fact, pretty terrifying – Smaug sort of terrifying, only without all the gold. 

“That's fascinating,” Simmons says, staring through the window. This is ridiculous. In a terrible kind of way. It's not like they don't have a pile of problems already, and let's not even start with Ward. He's been back for couple of months, is nowhere near the confidence he once had (or rather they all believed him to have), and he certainly doesn't need another identity crisis. Sam Wilson is going to go nuts when he hears this. And probably regret ever being hired as a therapist for former SHIELD – traumatized specialists. 

“That's not fascinating, Simmons, that's terrifying,” Skye says. She isn't even bothering to pretend that this doesn't affect her. The way Ward affects her is plain as a day even though both are trying so hard not to touch certain issues. Anyone has a limit, though, and Skye has reached hers. “That's a Kafka nightmare,” she says. Obviously, she doesn't think it's _Ward_ who's terrifying. Simmons looks remorseful, but barely so. Curiosity is getting the best of her. 

“Agreed,” Coulson says. “Question now is, how do we -”

“Undo this, Sir?” Trip asks. Outside, in front of the plane, Ward curls on the ground, tucking his large claws under his body. The way he tucks his snout under his wing is reminiscent of a really, really large (and equally miserable) dog. 

“I'm not sure we can undo Asgardian magic,” Coulson says. 

“Well, punching him out of it won't help this time,” May says with a tiny hint of bitterness. 

“You didn't know a lot of things,” Coulson says, but that doesn't really help anyone. 

“It doesn't excuse us, though,” says May. 

“Well,” Fitz takes a breath, “Lady Sif said that this type of magic usually ceases after it runs its course.” 

“Which, according to Lady Sif, is different for everybody,” Skye adds with a grim expression. 

“Well she did tell us something useful,” Trip starts, at which everyone looks at him. Some looks are incredulous, some are hopeful. Skye looks like she's ready to go to the end of the world to find a cure for Ward. She told us that Viane turns people into what they believe about themselves. As in, their darkest beliefs.”

Everyone turns to look at Ward outside. At that exact moment he takes a deep breath. 

“How does that help us?” Coulson asks. 

“Well, one gotta ask themselves why a dragon,” says Trip. The answer is rather obvious, and everyone winces accordingly. 

“Because a dragon is a monster,” Skye says it out loud and bites her lip. When you tell someone they're worthless or awful enough times, they start to believe it. 

May takes a deep breath. “The question now is, how does a magic like this run its course?” 

“We help him stop believing he's a dragon?” Fitz offers.

“Well, not quite,” Coulson says, thoughtful. “He thinks dragon is a monster. Maybe if we could help him see that a dragon doesn't have to be something awful -”

Everyone murmurs agreeably. 

“Sir,” Simmons says. “There is a problem. Well, several problems, but one in particular.”

“What is it, Simmons?” 

“How do we feed him, Sir? He needs to eat, after all,” she says in her reasonable scientific way. 

It's a question nobody's got an answer for. 

*

Jemma is the one who goes to investigate. Everyone tried to prevent her to go out, but she wouldn't have any of it. She is the scientist with the knowledge and expertise most fitting to... assess this situation. 

The plane is parked near the lake, and that's where the dragon is now (and apparently he came here because he eats fish of all things), still curled, with his back to the plane. Jemma can't read dragon emotions, but he somehow evokes feelings of sadness and worry within her. 

She walks down the ramp. Everyone else is standing at the entrance, May and Trip with icers, which is ridiculous. Considering Ward's size and weight, it's highly improbable that icer rounds would affect him at all. Let's not forget the scales. Simmons wonders if they’re truly impenetrable, like most legends says, assuming that’s probably incorrect. They're probably very thick and a powerful protection against – _oh dear God_. She's come near enough to realize just how big he is. Which makes sense because Ward is above average tall _and_ strong, and just a large presence overall. 

Well. He used to be. 

She stops several feet away from him. He is _so big_. His every breath sounds like some kind of large and malfunctioning machine, but apart from that he looks healthy, if she's going by the lizard standards of healthy look. His scales look whole and shiny; dark brown with golden or greenish hue to them. 

“Ward?” she says carefully and nearly trips backwards when he rears up his head. It's very quick and his movements are serpent – like. “It's okay,” she says, trying not to shake under the animal's golden eyed stare. “It's me, Jemma. Simons,” she says. 

He tilts his head to the side and frowns, then makes a disgruntled noise. For a moment, Jemma thinks she sees recognition in his gaze. The way he turns around and drops his head down looks disheartening. 

“Ward?”

Another noise. It sounds a bit like an elephant with a severe cold, and it sounds decidedly unhappy. 

“I'm here because we want to figure out a way to help you,” she says. He doesn't move for a moment or two and then draws his wings tighter around himself, like he's trying to tell her to leave him alone. Which reminds her of how Ward sometimes is these days, when he thinks nobody can see him. Jemma briefly wonders if he understands her and even though she has absolutely no evidence of this, she believes that he does. She also wonders if dragons can be depressed. 

She wonders if Ward is actually depressed and hiding it from all of them, himself included. 

“Ward, please,” she says, realizing there's a touch of desperation in her voice. “If you understand me, please look at me.”

He doesn't move for a moment. Then his head rears up, slowly, and he turns his long serpentine neck to look at her. 

Jemma feels immense relief. 

“Okay,” she smiles. “Okay, good. Hi,” she says. He huffs. Jemma takes time to take a good look at him. He has sharp spikes all along his neck, horns on top of his head and oval shaped scales above his eyes. He also has a long, thin cut where his right cheek is supposed to be. _Oh God._ “You look interesting,” Jemma says. 

“Rrruuuuurrrrrhhh,” Ward – the - dragon replies, and the roar sounds like disbelief. 

“Oh, no, no, I mean it. It's not like I meet a mythical.... creature every day,” she says. He blinks. “Never thought that would be your true self.”

He sighs and drops his gaze. 

“It's better than, uh, an owl? I would probably turn into an owl, and there is nothing remarkable about an owl,” she says. 

The dragon adamantly shakes his head, like he wants to say that's not true. For a tiny moment something familiar flickers in his eyes. Jemma feels a pang inside her chest. 

“Well, that's very sweet of you,” she says. He sighs and drops his gaze again. “Ward,” she says softly. He looks up. “This is me and you know me, and I think you look fascinating. A bit scary, with all the teeth, I admit, but.... fascinating,” she breathes out. He looks like he perked up just a bit. “Can I -?” she asks a bit timidly and reaches with her hand. 

He looks at her for a moment or two before he apparently figures out what she wants. Then, he lowers his head, eyes downcast and somehow … regretful and almost ashamed, but he lets her touch him. 

His scales feel smooth. Not cold at all – which makes sense if the fire breathing is an actual thing, which makes Jemma look up. He seems to catch on her excitement. 

“Ward?” she says, with her hand still on the ridge of his nose. “Can you breathe fire?”

*

Next thing they do is to measure and photograph him and make every scientific note about him they can. It's Simmons' idea and it's perfectly reasonable, but Fitz can't help but feel very awkward about it. Ward acts like he doesn't mind, but the look he gives the three of them (Simmons, Trip and Fitz himself) makes Fitz feel upset. 

“Sorry,” he says after he measures the length of Ward's claws. They're gigantic. Anything about this guy was always super powerful, so Fitz really shouldn't feel surprised. “Wow,” he adds earnestly, because Ward might look like a dragon, but he looks impressive. 

Ward lets out a deep rumble. It's not scary, it's just loud. “Is this how you imagined yourself?” Fitz asks. Ward shakes his head no. Fitz takes a few more photographs, which Ward allows, but Fitz has a feeling he would rather avoid that part. “You don't want me taking these?” Fitz asks. The dragon ( _Ward_ , Fitz reminds himself) looks at him sideways in a way that's entirely too human. He looks resigned over something that's making him feel unpleasant, or that's at least what Fitz thinks. 

He sets the camera away. The dragon sits next to him, so big that he's covering half the sky in Fitz's line of sight, and yet he shies away from Fitz, who is tiny in comparison. 

“Ward,” Fitz says. The dragon could easily walk away, to continue looking to the other side, but he doesn't. Instead his long neck turns so he's facing Fitz again. “I won't take any more pictures if you don't want me to,” he says. The dragon sighs. “Okay, so this is not how you imagined yourself,” Fitz states, looking up. The dragon sadly shakes his large head. That's sort of a pattern, isn't it? Ward ends up being something he doesn't want to be. “You hate it?” 

Ward nods. 

“You hate it because you're -” Fitz doesn't have the heart to finish the thought. Ward's eyes flicker before he lowers his head, which is now directly in front of Fitz. He does something with his wings too, like he's trying to cover up as much of his large, scaly body as he can. Fitz sighs. He wishes he could say something to make Ward see a different point of view. 

Wait. Maybe he _can_. 

“You know, Ward, dragons aren't just cruel, greedy, destructive beasts,” Fitz says, looking at his friend's dark scales and nostrils and claws. There's still a man inside the beast. Maybe someone has to be both, because life tends to be unfair. “You ever heard of Chinese dragons?” Fitz asks. Ward nods, vaguely. “In eastern cultures, like in China, dragons were considered magical. Luck bringers. Very powerful too. They represented good things, good things like wisdom, and that fits because you always give good advice on how to keep from harm,” Fitz rambles. Ward cocks his head to the side. “Not making it up,” Fitz says. “You have wings, right? It allows you to fly and look down and see the big picture, right?” 

Ward turns pensive at that. “That's what this is, Ward. Some, I don't know, mythical, proverbial lesson on how you see yourself and flaws of it. Many things can be both bad and good. Dragons included,” Fitz says, carefully reaching with his hand. He doesn't pat Ward on the nose, because he's still very much aware that this is Ward, the guy who flinches at the smallest touch (and does that make sense now.) Fitz simply wants to feel connected. Just as Simmons said, the scales don't feel rough or cold, and even though Ward can't breathe fire, at least not right now (or maybe he doesn't know how), he feels very warm. And that's pretty fitting, Fitz decides. Someone with so many powerful and even conflicting emotions cannot possibly be cold. 

Or evil. 

*

Once upon a time this might have been hilarious. 

It's not any more, in fact, it's everything but hilarious. Skye is standing near the ramp of the Bus, unable to go away as Fitz, Simmons and Trip keep poking and prodding Ward. She hears Simmons saying it's a shame they can't weigh him and asks Fitz if they can come up with a way to measure his strength. Like, strength of his bite. Ward just sits there, reminding Skye of a dog who's been beaten into obedience and thus doesn't even protest anything they're doing – in fact he seems to act the way that should please them. 

Which is wrong. So wrong in fact, that she wants to scream. 

“You didn't go to say hi,” Coulson says walking up to her. Skye just stares. Fitz and Simmons are packing up their equipment and Ward is looking at them sadly. 

“You're kidding me, aren't you?” Skye answers. 

“Not at all. You can't seem to stop looking at what's happening with him.”

That's correct. On several different levels, but this thing right now is extreme. Skye looks at Coulson, looking for an answer. Or advice. Something. He gives her a smirk. It's one of those she hates (not really), one that says she has to do the exact thing she's afraid of, except it's not as confident as it used to be. Once upon a time, when they were all less fractured. She sighs. What she's afraid of has less to do with a large dragon than with Ward – the - man and forgiving him too quickly. Before she can talk herself out of it, she's stepping down the ramp. 

So, what do you do in times like this? You pick yourself up and carry on, Coulson says. What's left of you. But she's not Fitz. She doesn't understand Fitz. He woke up and demanded answers, she was awake the whole damn time... and she didn't want to see. 

( _Some day you'll understand._

 _I will never give you what you want._ )

Skye walks, her determination faltering. The beast in front of her is colossal, but that's not what's bothering her. She isn't a quitter and she doesn't back down, she fights back, always did and has only learned how to be better, and the one who taught her... 

Maybe she owes him this much. Maybe she doesn't owe him anything. It's confusing and frustrating and almost impossible to stand in the same room as him and not look at him; as if he weren't a presence big enough to occupy every corner of her thoughts. She stands meters away from the dragon, and she can't do anything but stare. He looks big, powerful, beautiful in a distinctly frightening way. She remembers meeting Ward for the first time. Part of her mind whispers that his attempts to gain back her attention went a bit over the top. 

It's not funny. She used to feel better when she was still angry with him. There was no gaping hole inside of her chest when she attempted to hate him, but just as he lost whatever drove him on, the hate in her heart wore out to the point of her realizing that it was never real. 

And here he is. Not a man, but a monster alike creature, sadly watching as Fitz and Simmons pack their equipment. It's a a sight she's been trying not to see for past couple of months, however he is so big now, it's impossible not to see. Suddenly, he turns around and she's facing him – his eyes are golden, and his scales are shiny; he looks like a thing of fairy tales, only a thing all the noble knights fight against. 

“Hi there,” she says. Adds a grin, because she's suddenly so nervous. 

“It's cool,” Fitz says and pats Ward's huge leg. “he's very nice.” Ward – the – dragon makes a sound that reminds of a purr, only sounds way more disgruntled. “You are,” Fitz counters earnestly. The he looks at Skye and grins. “Nice that you came to say hi.” 

After that he leaves, as do Trip and Simmons and then she's alone with Ward. Ward – the - animal. She remembers him fighting under the effect of beserker staff and she remembers him unraveling at the end of his line with Garrett. She remembers his bruised face, the cut on his cheek (it never did go away), the way he told her she'd understand some day. She remembers him unmasked and powerless on the airplane's floor fighting for breath and heartbeat after Mike Peterson shot him. That man wore the same face she trusted and looked up upon, the same face she touched and kissed. She had trouble looking at that face, but it's gone now, replaced by something strange, something that _should_ frighten her. It doesn't. She finds herself looking, properly, for the first time in months. She finds herself wondering, _how_. 

He makes a rumbling sound. A gust of air comes through his nose, which she feels against her skin. She thinks of when she first met him, and how she poked his chest and taunted him instead of being scared. And that’s the thing. She remembers now. He is something she doesn't understand, and she can't make herself pretend she doesn't need to. Not anymore. 

The dragon blinks and for a moment his golden gaze seems so familiar. For a moment Skye wants to look up a certain photograph on her laptop. She wants to reach out. She wants to ask. She wants to understand how he ended up like this. She can't. 

Instead she sits on the ground, cross legged and the dragon curls in front of her. 

*

“Dragons are not evil,” Fitz says. (Of course.)

“Some dragons are,” Simmons insists and drops the “Hobbit” onto the table like she's making a point. 

“I don't like Smaug,” Fitz counters. Trip shakes his head. 

“Dragons are not _real_ ,” May says. 

“Bet you ten bucks that you're wrong about that one,” says Trip. “Because we've got one sitting outside the window, looking all mournful.”

Coulson draws a breath and rubs his forehead. “Fitzsimmons?” 

“He seems perfectly healthy, Sir,” Simmons says. “Which is an informed guess at the very best, because we don't have anything to compare him to. However his DNA structure is what's fascinating.”

“How so?” Coulson asks. 

“It's human, Sir.”

“How can it still be human?”

“Because this is magic. Because he's not a monster,” Fitz says, sounding upset and when they all look at him, there's this defiant expression on his face, the same one he has whenever someone even mentions anything bad about Ward. 

“He just looks like one,” May concludes. 

They all stare through the window. The dragon is pacing back and forth along the lake shore. 

This is what they know (what they pried out of him under the truth serum): that he was Garrett's since sixteen years old. That he was neither SHIELD's or Hydra's; that Garrett was the only truth he lived and breathed for fifteen years. That he knows how to follow orders, but not how to follow himself. What they don't know but only assume includes falsified personal records and a history of abuse one can only wonder about. Ward doesn't say much, because nobody is more unforgiving to him than himself, and he seems to think explanations are somehow excuses. 

What Leo Fitz knows is this – that Ward ignores any and all physical pain (not to show weakness). That Ward's hands start to shake if Simmons offers to make him a sandwich. That he spent five years in the woods on his own. That he can't talk about a dog he once had, and that he believes, with all his heart, that allowing to be forced to hurt someone you love makes you both weak and a monster. What Leo Fitz assumes is that the first thing Ward had to kill was his dog, and it's a thought that keeps him awake at night. 

“This is sick,” Fitz says and stands up, begins to pace. “This is a bloody sick misuse of what – what one thinks about himself. The worst -” he stands in the middle of the common room, hand pointing towards the window. “He is not evil,” he says, breath short and cheeks heated, insisting that there's more to a man than just a killer, even when he needs to reach for his crutch, even when his concentration falls short and he forgets for a moment what he was going to say. “But he thinks he's evil and a monster and that he deserves it. And if there is a way around this magic, then it's not by bloody telling him that dragons are monsters. He – he – he already learned that lesson.”

*

“Dragons are cool, you know,” Trip says the next day. Ward eyes him, unimpressed, picks up the fish he just caught with his enormous teeth; tosses it and then snatches it from the thin air. Then he spits out bones in front of Trip's feet. Trip rolls his eyes. “And sometimes obnoxious.” 

Ward growls. 

“Yeah, yeah, I don't care. You think you know everything, but you don't.”

Ward does something that would probably translate into a raised eyebrow on human face. 

“Oh let's see. You probably don't know that the coolest line in Disney animation belongs to a dragon,” Trip says, crossing his arms over his chest. Ward grumbles. “Nah, not telling you. You'll have to watch with me.”

Which is what they do, later that day, and if it looks ridiculous – Trip sitting on the ground, laptop perched on his knees and a huge dragon peering at the tiny screen over his shoulder – neither Trip or the dragon care. 

After that the line _dishonor on your cow_ becomes a frequent occurrence on the Bus. 

*

A few days later:

“I need to measure your claws and see if they've grown,” Simmons says. “Please.”

Ward obediently lifts his foot. Jemma is aware that he's watching her work. 

“You still can't breathe fire?” 

When he shakes his head he looks almost disappointed on her behalf. 

*

“I always wanted to have a dragon,” Coulson finds himself saying. If there's a look of disbelief on a dragon, then Ward is wearing it. And Coulson can't help but think of the moment he'd first seen Steve Rogers. Because that was cool. This is as well, only cooler, because this is an actual dragon. “Read all the books and wanted to ride a dragon into battle. When I was a kid,” Coulson says. Now Ward looks almost amused, and Coulson is about to tell him about his favorite fantasy fiction books when huge claws close around him. “Ward? What are you doing?” 

If it weren't so out of character for either a dragon or Grant Ward, Coulson would say he looks smug. He lifts himself up in the air, carefully, and Coulson is desperately holding onto huge claws. Ward makes a sound from above as he waves his wings, like he's asking if Coulson is okay. The answer is closer to negative than affirmative, but Phil Coulson will be damned if he lets this chance go by. (Or show Ward he's afraid.)

“Oh, that's very cool,” he says. _Bullshit, Phil_ , he thinks. _That's terrifying_. The dragon bares his teeth and the next thing Coulson knows is being lifted by those same teeth and dropped on the dragon's back. The rumble reverberating through dragon's body almost sounds like _hold on tight_. 

*

The next day Trip walks up to Ward, looking pretty offended. 

“So, _wait a second_. I bring you cool movies and watch them with you, and Coulson is the first you take for a ride? Not cool, man.” 

The dragon gives him a wicked grin. If next thing that's heard is screaming before both disappear among the clouds, Trip will never admit to that. 

*

It's not even surprising that Fitz is the one who is the calmest about being dropped onto dragon back. 

*

“You look gorgeous, you know,” Skye blurts. She usually just sits by his side and makes smalltalk of idle nonsense. He tries to steal glances at her, but it's hilariously ineffective because he's so big and it's impossible not to notice. But her blurting has him turning to face her in all his dragon glory. He's a gorgeous dragon, yes, but she's not certain if she's talking about the man, the mythic animal or both. However he is probably stuck hating himself in his current form (one that he thinks represents who and what he is), so she focuses on that. “Haven't you seen?” (Skye knows that he hadn't. She had noticed how pointedly he avoids looking at the water or shiny surfaces.) “You look agile and strong and you have badass wings, but that's not nearly all of it. You're a _gorgeous_ dragon, Ward,” she says and it hurts but at the same time it feels like relief, like tearing a chain away and breathing. “All those shiny brown – greenish scales and yellow eyes and sharp teeth. You're like a definition of dragon perfection.”

He looks like he doesn't know what to do with that. It reminds her of the Battleship and his general inability to accept compliments or jokes, and how long it took until he stopped rolling his eyes at her teasing.

“Well, you have to see it to believe it, I guess,” she says. They're standing next to the lake and he glances at the water surface reluctantly, like it might hurt him, and the thing is, she saw glimpses of this in human Grant Ward, the one who was handed back to them after the truth serum ( _This is your mess Coulson, you fix it_ ). How was anyone supposed to fix this? (And who was going to fix her and the gaping pain in her chest every time her eyes brushed his?)

“It's not fair, Ward,” she says, realizing that she's barely keeping the anger out of her voice. Victim or not, he hurt her. He can't act like a child crying it wasn't his fault and that he didn't mean to. “Yeah it sure feels like crap, but you've got -” she gestures at him frustratedly. “ _Wings_ , Ward. You have wings now. Fitz told me the other day that dragons represent the ability to see the bigger picture, and you know, this is maybe it? It's not just you in the grand scheme of things. It's not just what you look like or what you think you are, but also what you can do with it. If I were you, I'd do somersaults in the air, Ward. You _fucked_ up,” she takes a deep breath. “You've hurt people. You've hurt me,” she says and sees him shrink under her gaze. “But … will you just leave it there? Because there's this piece of me still... _hoping_ not everything was a lie. And … if you just leave it like this, if you keep wallowing because you're a big freaking dragon, then that hope is in vain. And everything Fitz is doing is in vain. Every time Simmons wants to make your hurting stop is in vain. But you could, you know, _do_ something. Like look into the damn mirror, for starters. Or lake. Because you're still a gorgeous dragon. _Do_ something with that.”

*

She leaves him in a whirlwind of confusion and anger and hurt that’s climbing up his neck from the pit of his body. That body is larger and different now, strange and somehow still familiar, even when he doesn't want it to be. Because of this everything is a torture, and part of him wants them all to leave, to never look at him again. There is no way he could make himself into anything else but this. But then Trip brings movies and Fitz looks at him, and Simmons comes to check every single detail she can think of. And they smile. Part of him wants to know what they're smiling at. 

Skye's words leave him unsettled in a way that makes him feel thousands pounds heavy and unable to move. It's always been like that with Skye, with her every remark, every flippant toss of her hair and every smile he tried to resist and ultimately wasn't able to. He may be a dragon, but a girl so tiny that she fits into his paw is powerful enough to make him stop and face the things he doesn't want to. 

He doesn't know how much time passes, but when he nears the water, the daylight is already fading. He forces himself take more than a fearful glance, and when he does, he can't avert his eyes. 

Someone once said that if you keep gazing into abyss, the abyss gazes back into you. Through all of his life Grant Ward has done his best to avoid gazing into himself. The result of which is this – he knows every line of his human face, and how to make that face move to convince someone that a lie is the truth. Still, the face he's been looking at for many months now is a stranger, a shell he has never seen before. But seeing this? It's a shock, however not the staggering kind of shock he's been expecting. 

So he looks. Looks at his long head and yellow eyes with precise, black slits. Those eyes that let him see the fish and catch them without breaking a sweat. He looks at the dark brown color of his face, and how it turns lighter and golden on the inner side of his neck. He looks how he spreads his wings and observes their shape and size. He looks.

They called him a monster, but someone had called him gorgeous, and he thinks, slowly, how those two things don't have to be mutually exclusive. 

*

He's almost asleep when someone walks down the ramp of the plane and towards him. 

(Fitz. He recognizes the uneven step and the sound of his crutch. And realizes that he's carrying something. A large bundle. Ward lifts his head to observe the man walking up to him with a sleeping bag and a book.)

“Fitz!” Simmons calls from the top of the ramp. “What if something happens? You can't just spend a night outside -”

“Simmons, you are not my mother,” he says as he unrolls the sleeping bag. Ward agrees with Simmons, but lacks the voice to talk Fitz out of this. 

“But, Fitz!”

“No buts. He's been outside all alone for days now -”

“But Fitz, it's dangerous,” Simmons insists. 

“Oh, silly Jemma,” Fitz says with exasperation. “What can happen to me when I have a dragon to protect me?” 

In the moments that follow Fitz is out like a light as soon as he curls up in his sleeping bag, right next to Ward's claws, but Ward cannot sleep. He remains awake, observing the incredible, tiny human at his feet as something pure and powerful seizes him and closes his throat. (The feeling is surprisingly human). Someone helpless when compared to his size and physical strength puts his absolute trust in him, Grant Ward, the man who failed everyone. Ward curls himself around the man sleeping next to him, his long neck surrounding the sleeping bag. He glances at the plane before he drops his head on the ground. 

He is big and tall and strong; he has teeth and claws and wings. He is a dragon, a beast, a _monster_ and nobody, _nobody_ will ever touch those he protects. 

*

It all happens in a blink of an eye. He is catching fish and in the next moment he hears the gunfire. 

He's thankful for his wings. Thankful. Because human legs would never be able to carry him this far this quickly, send him through the clouds and cold air and all over the lake until he sees it. The entire picture. 

They're surrounded. Skye and Fitz and Trip, cut off from the rest and from the shelter of the Bus, hanging by the treeline while armed Hydra men are closing in, and Trip is running out of ammo. Ward waves his wings forcefully and they give him height. He sees the attackers gaining ground, sees their cars surrounding what he protects, what he loves. 

They won't take them away from him. 

The rage coils red and hot in the pit of his stomach and climbs all the way up his neck, igniting him. He is the fire, he is the wind, he is _everything_ and nobody will stop him. He crashes from the sky and slams against the ground, furious and horrible; entire length of his body between the three people trying to find the cover among the trees and their pursuers. He roars, releasing entire force of his rage whiting the single sound; all of the sadness and confusion, all the anger, all the weakness. The attackers pause before some start to shoot and others try to run. 

It's futile. He is huge, he is enormous and he will protect what he loves. The bullets don't even touch him. He roars again and smacks the men with a single wing, throws them away with a sweep of his tail. The cars roar into life and most of them are driving away in haste. May and Coulson emerge from the plane, shooting. He is about to move over and help them when he feels it. It's sharp, the pain that flashes across his leg. He turns and sees a man with a missile launcher perched on top of a black van and realizes that his leg is grazed and it's bleeding. 

Behind him he hears a scream. 

May runs to his help, risking to be shot herself. The attacker is too far away, even for his reach. 

He doesn't have a gun. 

But he has something else. 

And he hopes Simmons is watching. 

*

When the dust and smoke settle, Coulson limps towards everyone else gathered around Ward, with a half ripped jacket sleeve and a smirk on his face. 

He looks at the team and then at Ward. 

“Bad guys can shut up. Because we have dragons,” he says. 

“Referencing Game of thrones at all costs?” Trip smirks. 

“Well, a dragon. One, but worth many,” Coulson says. 

*

It's familiar. Everyone standing around him and Simmons taking care of the graze on his left leg, fussing over him more than necessary. He doesn't have the voice to tell her that it doesn't really hurt and that it's already healing, that it will heal faster than she expects, which he somehow knows. However, her little hands cleaning the graze feel nice. 

“Are you in pain?” Fitz asks. Ward shakes his head. In all seriousness, he could just lick his wound by himself, but then it strikes him as he observes everyone else - _everyone being concerned about him_. Trip helping Simmons. Fitz, leaning over, frustrated about feeling useless. May and Coulson standing on the side and Skye wiping her eyes. 

Hours later it's not just Fitz who brings the sleeping bag out. It's Simmons and Skye and Trip as well. Ward curls around them, tail and neck, and listens to them breathe as the pain in his leg subsides. 

*

The next day they all catch fish for him. They insist he is hurt and shouldn't move around, so they catch fish for him. 

*

“Chinese dragons are water serpents,” May says, her voice a sudden shift in the quiet of the evening. She sits next to him, facing the lake, her gaze trained froward, her presence radiating composure. “You hunt and eat fish, just like them. But you also breathe fire like western dragons,” she says. 

He wants to tell her that dragons don't exist. That he doesn't know how this can even be real. 

He knows what follows, as he listened to enough dragon debates between Trip and Fitz. Chinese dragons brought luck and protection and life. European dragons destroyed it. May looks at him then as if she can read his mind. 

“You are both of those things,” she says. “Someone who can protect life and someone who can destroy it,” she makes a long, heavy pause. Then she continues, her gaze seeming lost somewhere else.“It was personal,” she says then. He doesn't move to get a better look at her; there's just her sharp profile, clear against the fading sky; there is no need. He knows what she is talking about. Her voice sounds painful. He remembers – but what he remembers is the loss and confusion and fear. Not the pain. He can see the line of her mouth thinning, the outline of her defiant chin. “You fooled me and put the team in danger. You tried to hurt them. That was what I knew. That is why I did what I did,” she says and looks at him. 

She's not apologizing, and he understands why. Her face crumbles then though, like fading the light. 

“I am sorry about not seeing it before,” she says then and looks him in the eye. “I know … what it's like. What it's like to have demons and be quiet about them. I know. And I should have seen. Someone should have seen,” she pauses and moves closer, close enough to place a hand on his foot. It reminds him of some other time and compassion he doesn’t' think he deserved. “We swore to protect, to be the last line, and we failed the very first test. Our own,” she lowers her eyes until the composure is back on her face. His chest feels heavy. This time too he knows what she's saying, and it's not only the team she is talking about. “I am sorry because we failed you.”

*

His leg heals. He keeps an eye on the Bus and curls around his sleeping friends, he catches fish and watches his team prepare them. He watches them talk and laugh and bicker about the movies and takes them for the sky rides on his back. And for the first time in years he feels calm when he looks at his own reflection, and thinks, if he had his human face, he wouldn't avert his gaze. 

*

“Fitz,” someone shouts, “Fitz! Bring a blanket -”

“Hey why are you – oh bloody hell!”

Ward wakes up with a start, feeling groggy and confused and disoriented. Something is wrong. 

“Ward? Ward, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

A warm hand lands on his shoulder. Skye. Skye's hand. Shoulder, _his_ shoulder. Then he realizes what's going on. 

Someone brings a blanket and drapes it around him, and someone else helps him stand. His legs shake and he doesn't seem to know how to move at first, but Fitz and Trip hold him up, and Skye is there, and Simmons is there and somehow they manage to get him into the lab. An hour later Simmons proclaims him healthy and fit, if a little confused, and allows him to find his way into his bunk and then shower. 

It comes back, slowly. The feeling of being huge and flying, the feeling of strength, the beauty of climbing high enough to see everything. He washes the weeks of sleeping under bare sky off his skin and looks at the mirror when he's done. The man looking back at him still doesn't have all the answers. 

He wants to spend a bit more time by the lake before they leave. Wants to look up at the sky and recall feeling good inside his skin. When he walks down the ramp, he finds Skye at his usual spot. 

The smile she gives him is uncertain and small, not like Skye he knows. 

“I was just -” she starts. Her eyes search her face, looking how relief dawns in her eyes. She shakes her head, tires to laugh, but it breaks in half. Instead she gives him a watery look filled with more things he could ever name. “I'm glad you're back.” 

He nods. Then he remembers that now he has a voice. 

“I did it, you know,” he says. 

“Did what?” she asks. 

He has a voice, but still doesn't know how to say it. (That she opened his eyes, that she made him look at the world, and himself, in a different way. That he enjoyed being who he was while trapped inside of a dragon's body. That he looked himself in the eye. That some day he might learn the same lesson as himself.)

He settles for a smile and for something simple, knowing she'll understand. 

“I did _something_ ,” he says. 

Slowly, Skye smiles. Slowly, he can feel something coming apart around his heart. It can beat stronger somehow. 

“And how was it?” she asks, the light in her eyes a faraway and familiar sight. 

For the first time after a long time he smiles with his human face, and even though the small space between him and Skye feels like an immense gap, he can feel hope, like a promise. He thinks how to describe it best. 

“It was hard,” he says finally. Skye's eyes light up with curiosity and something warm, something like understanding, and he thinks how it doesn't matter how long the road. He started down the path, he will not stop. “But worth it.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Reflection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2488772) by [AstridV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstridV/pseuds/AstridV)




End file.
